Making sense out of chaos.

My Lawn is a Toilet.

My mutts pee on the lawn killing the grass, er, weeds that proliferate amid all things green, now a paler shade of yellow-green, slipping between the cracks on the brick pathway and inner circles, er, holes of the garden.

Walking the lawn is dangerous to shoe-sole survivors of Doghau concentration camp that was anything but a camp.

Now the poor souls must negotiate their way around poop land mines. Hidden in the grass, they explode upon impact.

Ka-poo! Smushed crap covers my shoe.

I look for a rock between a hard place along the driveway. I find one that has tumbled out of line halfway onto cracked asphalt already infiltrated by weeds. They get into everything. Those weeds of mine — Weeds do the darnedest things!

But at least weeds don’t stick to your shoe like poo.

I scrape the sole against a rock then admire my work — a piece of crap art, a poo Picasso perhaps. Something to admire on a day when I’m feeling down in the dumps.